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Archive for widow’s tale – Page 2

letters to my daughter . 091916

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This is one of those hard weeks for me. It marks four years since my husband, Mike, died. I keep looking for the time when these types of anniversaries don’t require me to retreat or take time off or climb out of that deep reservoir of grief and memories I seem to slip into. Each year is a little different, and I think a little easier. This one is easier than last year, and I’m trusting next year will be easier still.

My little ones were so young when he died. I sometimes wonder exactly what they remember. Baby Girl was only four at the time. This year, she’s lived as long without her father as she lived with him. It will take longer for the boys to reach that milestone, but they’ll get there. When those memories they do have rise to the surface, I find myself trying to shore them up. They look to me for confirmation that they really do remember what they think they remember. That their dad really was like what they think they remember. That he really did the things they think they remember.

It breaks my heart. In the way the detailed level of my own memories sometimes does. But, I’ve realized that one of my greatest services to them as this loss — this absence — meets each new stage of their upbringing is to help them remember. When they can’t remember, I’ll help them to be as sure of their dad as they can be.

letters to my children . 081116

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The funny thing about growing is that it’s really hard to see from the inside out. I guess we’re so used to our own skin and the sound of our own thoughts that sometimes we don’t notice when they shift a little.

This morning, my oldest and I were talking on the way to school about the schedules for the next few days, and I was trying to encourage him not to feel too stretched with some weekend activities coming up. His young heart puts on a brave face most of the time, but sometimes I see glimpses of the uncertainty coming out. “Mommy, every day I already feel stretched.” It was a small admission of his feelings about how he’s handling a new school year at a new school, being a 6th grader with seven classes instead of four, and several new weekly activities. There’s a lot of new there, and we all have uncertain feelings about change. The thing is, not three minutes before his comments, I was thinking how proud I was of how he was handling the newness and how well I thought he was doing with these changes. He just couldn’t see it for all the fear and concern in his own heart. I was able to remind him of what I see… that he’s growing. That he’s changing. That last year this time and for several more weeks, his struggles were showing a lot more. They were taking over. But this year, he’s learned to press forward and to take little steps to tackle the change. This year, I see more of his strength shining through. I see him growing.

Stronger, braver, taller, funnier, brighter, more curious and compassionate and confident, joyful, creative, and faithful. I see it so clearly every day. Every day I see him growing — and the other two as well. Sometimes we need that reminder of the growth that’s showing through on the outside.

It’s the same for me. It’s been almost four years since Mike died, and life has been moving. Sometimes I see myself as that same scared, newly single mom, overwhelmed by the responsibility and the emotion of all that’s happened. Sometimes I still am that woman. But, if I look carefully and I step outside my own head, sometimes I can also see glimpses of the woman who’s grown stronger and braver, more curious and compassionate. Joyful. I hope these three souls in my care can see me growing too.

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I wonder if they need to hear this. I’m certain they do. And I often grieve that I’m the one they hear it from. In these words… “would be.” I stay awake at nights sometimes wondering if they have this sense of void. The unfilled space in their hearts where a Daddy would fill. I wonder how much they remember. And if in their memories, they hear the words. I wonder if my saying them is a poor substitute. Or if it can somehow reach in and touch the gap.

My oldest earned his Arrow of Light in Cub Scouts last night. It’s a two-year process that he’s enjoyed, and worked for. And one that has taken me out of my comfort zone. When he said he wanted to join Cub Scouts, I felt this huge wave of anxiety. I didn’t know how to do that. But, with the help of great leaders, we did it together. I think about those experiences, and know his father would have enjoyed them. And, I wanted him to hear it… “I’m proud of you, son.” I wanted him to hear it in his heart and carry it with him for always. Stored up for those times when he needs to know. When he needs to know the joy he brought to his dad, and the joy he brings to me. Just by breathing.

Revisiting Long Beach

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When I was planning our summer, one of the things I wanted to do was take my kids to a few Mississippi places they hadn’t seen to give them more of a taste of our home state. When we scheduled our family vacation to Gulf Shores, Alabama last month, I decided to tack on a few extra days at the front end for us to wander through the Mississippi Gulf Coast.

My late husband, Mike, grew up on the Gulf Coast — in Long Beach, Mississippi — and I have bittersweet memories of only a few visits we made there, and of him sharing with me some of the things he enjoyed most about it. Although the Coast is only about five hours from our home in Starkville, before this summer, I had not been back to the area since we were there together. And, that was also a few years before Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005.

For the Mississippi leg of our vacation, we stayed in Gulf Port, but did a lot of driving and exploring from Bay St. Louis to the west, all the way across to Ocean Springs to the east before heading over to Alabama. The trip brought up a lot of emotions for me. As with many things related to their Dad, I was a little apprehensive about showing the children some of the places that hold deep memories for me. At the same time, I was also excited to show them more about the things he loved and the place he lived as a child. They were so young when he died, and sometimes I think I need to fill in more of the picture they never got to experience with Mike. Of course, with anyone visiting the Coast for the first time since Katrina, I was very curious and apprehensive again about seeing the destruction and the changes it caused — even 10 years later.

It was actually a neat and cathartic experience to return to some of the places Mike showed me in on the coast, even with some of the huge changes caused by the hurricane’s destruction. The children were most interested in the simple details rather than any of the emotions about the places, and that was about my speed too.

We visited Shelter Rock Drive. Mike grew up in a small house on that block which is adjacent to Hwy 90. Although his childhood was filled with challenges, the neighborhood was a good spot, considering his love of wildlife, fishing and so many outdoor experiences. The lot on the corner of his street and Hwy 90 stood vacant since Hurricane Camille in 1969, when the house that was originally there was destroyed. Mike told stories of climbing the live oaks that remained on the lot during his childhood. During this first time back, my biggest glimpse of the reality of Katrina’s devastation was that Shelter Rock Drive is virtually just grass plots and concrete slabs almost grown over now. Not an easy sight to see, although I knew in my head it’s what I should expect.

Aside from driving around a little, the other place we visited in Mike’s hometown was the Long Beach fishing pier. Mike and I actually fished there a few times, which you can read as mostly Mike fishing and me dropping a few casts every now and then. Mike spent a lot of his youth fishing the pier and in some of the streams like Wolf River.
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The water in the Mississippi Gulf looks dirty. Mike taught me that it’s because it IS dirty. Not from lack of care, but because of the Mississippi River. The barrier islands trap water spilled into Mississippi Sound from the river and push it to shore. It makes for a “brackish” environment with its own wildlife and habitat. At least that’s my recollection of his explanation.

Mike taught me a lot of small details. And they’re all sometimes a little sketchy now…

Oleander is very pretty, but don’t ever use the stalks for a marshmallow roast because they are poisonous. The beaches on the Gulf Coast are actually man-made, and the native beaches were a lot more rocky. Deer Island almost touches the mainland in Gulf Port and he enjoyed camping there on occasion with friends. In the days before gambling was legal in Mississippi, the casino restaurant boats would sail out far enough to touch international waters in order to comply with the law. And folks on the boats tipped well. Crab cages have a trap crabs can crawl in, but not out. Crabbers drop their traps with a weight and line and come back hours later to haul in their catch. The water moccasins look just like hanging vines on Wolf Creek. “Floundering” uses this jabby thing on the end of a pole. Flounder have both their eyes on the same side of their body and if you slide your feet along the beach floor, you might stir one up. Fish from the pier really prefer live bait, but cold shrimp will do. Live bait shrimp aren’t pink. When somebody gets a hit on the pier, everybody watches him reel it in. There’s a tiny little jelly fish that washes ashore sometimes during low tide that makes the beach light up as you touch them. Pelicans fly long distances, see their prey from high up and take an amazing dive to grab it.

In our short visit to the pier, the children saw the same pelicans I did when Mike took me there. They looked across to Long Beach Harbor. They watched the daily fishermen cast out their nets with the weights on the end. I told them the same stories he told me and shared the details like I was a pro. Only, I’m not. I’m just trying to remember. The same as they are. All part of weaving together a life that only forms in our memories now.

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I’m so glad we took the time to revisit Long Beach this time — the first time for the children. Like priming a pump, the first time visiting what could be a difficult place draws out the opportunity for future experiences. I’m actually excited about taking them there again, and hoping they can find some of their own special places and memories in the place their Dad called home.

Stay tuned for a few more posts to come as I share more about our visit to the Mississippi Gulf Coast and the Gulf Shores, Alabama area. We explored as many downtown areas across the coast as we could and found lots of fun places — small businesses, restored areas, museums, collections and more. Good memories!

Day Nine: Conversations with Baby Girl

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Yesterday as we were enjoying some time inside the farm house between cold walks, Baby Girl and I were hanging out on my bed. At the farm she has always shared a room with me, and it’s become a special thing. I’ve noticed that sometimes those down times are ripe for conversations — the ones that help me see her heart.

Baby Girl turned five in August. She was barely four when her father died, and of course sometimes our conversations about that situation are heart-breaking. She has always been the most expressive about Mike’s death which means that I am more likely to field those difficult questions and comments with her. Little girls have special relationships with their fathers. I do. And, so often I find myself looking for ways to help her deal with that loss while trying to shore up her memories.

I wrote last week about how much of a blessing time has been for me in giving me enough distance and processing of the situation with Mike to now begin to talk about him more freely and with more joy. I’ve seen how much that has helped Baby Girl in particular.

Because she is so young, sometimes I see her searching. Like she is trying to make her memories of her father more solid and real. That’s a process we are all going through. Everyone else just has more time — more memories — to pull from. So, she asks me questions. In surprising moments of contentment and safety, she asks. Times like yesterday afternoon.

We were hanging out on my bed in the farm house. She laid down on the side of the bed beside the wall next to where I sleep and asked of that was where Daddy slept. She began to explain to me how Daddy had used this bed to change her diapers and how he had picked her up from her bed when she woke up during the early morning hours and taken her to the farm house living room.

She’s told me this before. She repeats it for me occasionally. And asks, “is that right?” And I tell her “yes.” Every time she smiles to know that Daddy took care of her and changed her diaper and helped her when she needed to go back to sleep. Yesterday I told her that this was one of Daddy’s favorite things to do. I explained what I had all but forgotten myself. That Mike had often gotten up at the farm to play with her in the mornings — when toddlers always seem to wake. He did it to let me sleep. And to be with Baby Girl.

To write about it is still painful. I’m not quite at the stage where it is pure joy to remember the kindnesses Mike showed me, the kindness of his character, and the love he had for his children. I’m not sure I’ll ever count those memories as pure joy. They may always be twinged with the reality of his death and his choice to die. But, it is important for me to remember them again. And it’s important for Baby Girl to remember them. For me to be able to tell her “yes, that’s right.” To freely elaborate and give her more of the account of her father. To nurture those memories she treasures. What we all treasure. I’ve realized how important it is for me to help her hold them dear.

I’m learning how precious those moments of sharing are for our family. And for my own process of moving forward. I’m learning that it’s ok to show my children my tears and to give them permission to show their own. I’m learning that it is healthy and good for us to ask questions together and answer them together. I’m learning that joy does indeed come in the morning of our grief as we are slowly waking to those moments of truth and remembrance.

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